


Happiness Will Find a Way In

by Kiromenanz



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Swearing, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6035617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiromenanz/pseuds/Kiromenanz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People were always telling Arthur how brave he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness Will Find a Way In

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself to take any random prompt and write a 5 page story with it, so I did. I used the prompt generator at springhole.net (http://www.springhole.net/writing_roleplaying_randomators/fanfictionplot.htm) and the prompt it gave me was: A major villain's fondest wish suddenly comes true, but it turns out to have terrible consequences.  
> If you squint very hard and turn your head sideways you might find about half of it in this story. But I kind of ran away with it. 
> 
> Warnings for: Swearing, minor character death, mentions of spiders/arachnophobia, angst that turns into total mush at the end (I’m sorry)
> 
> Thanks to A, who gave me the idea for the title and who once again held my hand and encouraged me and liked my writing even when I’m really not sure ^__^, you rock!
> 
> (any mistakes are mine, of course, and I’ll gladly correct it if you find something)

 

_“I don’t want to be brave. I just want to be myself. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”_

_\-- Morgana Pendragon (Merlin)_

 

He was five, sitting on a cold metal seat covered in flimsy cloth. The syringe seemed unbearable big, the needle longer than his little (still a bit pudgy) hand. The nurse smiled at him reassuringly. 

“It won’t hurt, I promise.”

His father had not been able to come. There was a meeting with important people. Arthur did not understand what his Da did, but he knew that when the important people called, he had to go because if they were angry at him, they would not give him money. And then Da would be angry. So Helen had taken him to the doctor’s, smiling tightly at him all the way from the front seat. 

She was sitting in the waiting room now. She did not like the smell of hospitals, the disinfectant and linoleum that perpetrated the air. She had put a pale hand on Arthur’s little shoulder and smiled at him. Her eyes hadn’t crinkled when she’d done that, and Arthur had scuffed his toe on the linoleum floor. 

“You can go in there on your own, can’t you? You’re a big boy after all, Arthur, right?”

Arthur stared at the wall. There was a bright painting of sunflowers hanging on it, framed by a red plastic frame. 

“Now, just put out your arm – just like that, perfect. We’ll be done in a tick, don’t worry.” The nurse was wearing rubber gloves and they felt weird on his skin. 

“Your name is Arthur, right?”

Arthur nodded. 

“And how old are you, Arthur?”

“Five.” 

“Five!” The nurse pretended to be surprised. “My, you’re practically grown already!”

“I’m still in kindergarden.” He told her. 

The nurse hummed and the needle pierced his forearm without a warning. It hurt. 

“There you go, almost done. You’re doing so well.”

Arthur stared at the wall and at the sunflower painting. There was a strange pulling sensation inside his arm. It hurt. 

The nurse’s clothing rustled as she pulled back and capped the syringe. “There, that was no problem. Very well done, Arthur. You’re a brave boy.”

Arthur bit his lip and stared at the wall and the sunflower painting. 

 

He was eight. A boy in his class, Lee Francis, was crying on the bench outside of the gym. His trousers were torn at the knee and a bit of blood was trickling down his leg.The other kids were clustered around him. Harry Reynolds was patting his back and Lisa McAdams was going through her backpack, looking for the chocolate bar she had left over from snacktime. 

Arthur was standing by the little oak tree they had planted in the courtyard a year ago, scuffing his toes in the dirt. Helen would probably yell at him later for that. 

“They said that to you?” Lisa said. “That’s so mean! We have to tell a teacher!”

Lee sniffled.

Theo Jenkins balled his hands to fists. “They think just because they’re older they can do anything.” The others nodded. Lisa made a triumphant noise and unearthed a Crunchie bar from her bag. She handed it to Lee who sniffled again and took it with a murmured thanks. 

“I can’t tell a teacher.” He muttered. “What if John and the others find out I did? They’d kill me.” Harry blanched. Theo just looked angrier. Lisa crossed her arms in righteous anger. 

Arthur zipped his coat fully up. The leaves on the little oak tree were already turning yellow and the wind had a biting edge. 

“Well, one of us will have to do it.” Lisa said as if the answer was obvious. “We’ll just say that we saw it happening.”

Harry bit his lip and twisted his hands together. “But what if they find out? John’ll be so angry.”

Lisa huffed. “Well, someone has to do it.”

Nobody volunteered. Harry knotted his fingers together until the knuckles turned white. Arthur dug the tips of his white trainers into the cold earth. 

“Let Arthur do it.” Theo suggested. “He’s brave, right, Arthur?”

Arthur bit his lip and dug his toe into the earth. 

(He came home with a scratched knee and ripped trousers three days after that. Da was in his office, shuffling through important papers. Helen yelled at him for making him buy new trousers so soon after ruining his brand-new trainers. Arthur bit his lip and stared at the wall.)

 

Arthur was eleven and his sweatshirt was too big for him. It fell over the tips of his fingers, enveloping him in a sea of red cloth. He had begged Helen to buy the sweatshirt for him until she had clicked her tongue at him in annoyance and pressed her credit card into his hands so he could go and get it for himself. The sales clerk had told him three times that technically, the sweatshirt was too large for him, and didn’t he want his two sizes smaller? 

Arthur didn’t. He had worn the sweatshirt every day since then. Helen thought it was an abomination and made him look like a street kid who had stolen it from an adult. 

Arthur didn’t care. 

He pulled the sleeves over his hands and twisted the cloth together. His Da was in the hall, going through his luggage. 

“You have everything?” Helen asked him for the third time. Uther sighed. 

“Yes, I have – I just need to find the report of Grunnington Banks and Associates – there it is. Would you tell the cab driver to come and get my luggage?”

Helen assured him she would and kissed his cheek before slipping out of the door. Uther slipped into his gloves and glanced at his son, sitting at the bottom of the stairs. 

He quirked a smile. “You look like a drowned rat in that thing.”

Arthur smiled back. “I like it, Da. I think the colour suits me.”

His Da huffed and slipped into his coat. “Come over here so I can look at you.”

Arthur did. He rarely got to see his Da from up close, usually there was furniture separating them – a desk, a dining table or a coffee table, now and again the vast expanse of Arthur’s little room when Da came to check on him after he returned from work. 

There was grey in Da’s hair, just a hint of it peppering the short strands above his ears. His hands were wrinkled, Arthur noticed as he put them on Arthur’s shoulders. 

“It’s just a month Arthur. I’ll be back before you know it. You just be your usual brave self and I’ll be back soon, alright?”

Arthur nodded and traced the patterns in the wood with his socked toe. “Sure. Have a safe flight.”

Uther ruffled his hair. “I will. Now go up to your room and work on your schoolwork.”

Arthur nodded. He watched as his father once more checked the luggage and wrapped a scarf around his neck. The cab driver came inside and helped him carry out the bags. When the door fell shut behind them, Arthur went up to work on his assignments. 

 

Arthur was sixteen and he couldn’t sleep. His earbuds were constantly slipping out of his ears, the sounds of The Clash fading and making room for the sound of shattering crockery and raised voices. They were muffled through his door, but not enough. Arthur glanced at his alarm clock. 2:38 AM. 

He sat up and raked his hand through his hair. The air in the room was cold, the curtain fluttering in the breeze coming in from outside. When his naked feet hit the floor he shivered. 

He cracked open the door. Dim light from downstairs illuminated his toes and the bottom of his pyjama pants. It was enough light to make his way downstairs, carefully avoiding the fifth stair from the top (the one that creaked). 

The voices originated from the kitchen. The door was open, spilling light from the chandelier Helen had insisted to be installed in the kitchen into the hall. Arthur stopped halfway down the stairs. From where he stood he could see his father’s hands gesticulating wildly, and Catrina glaring at him with a red face and shaking hands. Shards of china and glass littered the floor, reaching as far as into the hall. Arthur gripped the banister. It would not do to walk down there barefoot. 

“I’m sick of this!” Catrina screamed and punctuated the words with the sound of porcelain against tiles. “How do I know she’s not the only one? How do I know that bringing this – this _hussy_ into our house isn’t the end of it? How many children do you have stashed away? Do you regularly fuck others while you’re on your _business trips_?”

“I made _one_ mistake, _one_! That was years ago, and Igraine forgave me for it!” Arthur watched his father’s fist connect with the table hard enough to make it shake. 

“Well _she_ might have done, but _I_ sure as hell won’t! And she wouldn’t have wanted that slut’s spawn in her house either, I promise you!”

“Have you always been this selfish? The child has nowhere else to go! This has nothing to do with you!”

Catrina’s laugh was a jagged and bitter thing. “ _Nothing to do with me? Nothing to do with me?_ This has everything to do with me! Apparently you’re unable to be faithful even once, after everything that happened, you expect me to accept living, breathing proof of that into _my house_?”

Uther took an angry step forward, crockery crunching beneath his shoe. “THIS IS _MY_ HOUSE!”

Arthur did not know who saw him first. Probably Catrina, who, in an attempt to get away from Uther’s wrath had taken a sudden step backwards and twisted sideways. Her wide eyes fixed on him. Uther followed her gaze.

“Go upstairs, Arthur.” Arthur stood. “NOW!”

Arthur went. It was dark and he hit his toe on a wall, but swallowed the curses rising up in him. 

He didn’t sleep that night, instead he stared at the wandering shadows on his wall, huddled beneath his blanket. When he got up in the morning, the house was deserted except for the housekeeper and a thin, ill-looking girl with scraggly black hair. 

“This is Morgana.” Mrs. Kent said, one hand on the girl’s small shoulder. “She’ll be living with you now. She’s a brave kid, just like you, Arthur.”

Morgana’s eyes were wide. Arthur swallowed a mouthful of soggy cornflakes. “Where is father?”

“On a business trip. Emergency business, apparently.” Her expression was full of pity. Arthur felt bile rising in his throat and looked away. 

“Your room is upstairs.” He told the girl. “Second door on the right. You can find it by yourself.”

 

Arthur was twenty-one and his suit was custom-tailored. The crisp shirt was buttoned up all the way, the windsor knot in his black tie tied with absent-minded hands. His shoes were shined within an inch of their lives. He could have saved himself the trouble since it was pouring, but he refused the thought of leaving his flat anything less than perfectly put together. 

The gravestone was even darker grey when wet. The flowers smelled stronger in the rain, a thick, sweet smell that surrounded Arthur like a blanket and made him sick. The coffin, an understated affair of heavy oak, was lowered into the earth with reference. Once it hit the bottom with a dull thud Arthur stepped forward. The wet soil was cold and clung to his skin uncomfortably. Half of it remained on his hand after he had thrown it onto the coffin. He stepped back, trying and failing to brush the wet earth from his skin. 

Morgana was after him, then Agravaine. 

The funeral director said some words. Arthur presumed they were from the bible, but he was unsure. The steady pattering of rain against umbrellas made it hard to understand what was spoken. Arthur stared at a tree, a few feet to the left of his father’s gravestone. He kept his feet still and clenched his teeth. 

After the service they all passed by him to say their condolences. He nodded and smiled and thanked them for coming. 

“A very nice service,” they commented. “He would have like that.”

“The speeches were very moving,” they told him. “I cried.”

“You did well, Arthur,” they said. “You were always such a brave boy.”

Arthur nodded and smiled and fixed his eyes on the tree. Its branches were swaying, rattled by the wind, the leaves constantly assaulted by unforgiving raindrops. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his feet still. 

 

Arthur was twenty-six and the board was looking at him in astonishment. 

“Are you sure about this, Arthur?” Agravaine was slowly crumbling a hobnob to dust. “It’s quite the bold move.”

Arthur steepled his fingers. “I am aware of that. But I think it is time that we tried something new. My father has been dead for five years now, and if we do not change something about his policies, the company soon will be too. Ruining the business in his name is not what I want to be remembered by.”

The board grumbled in discontent. 

“Well, you _are_ the chairman.” Agravaine smiled thinly. “I expect you know what you’re doing. Very brave, really, if you think about it.”

Arthur inclined his head and smiled. 

Ah, how he hated that word. 

(The board voted in favour of the company policy change. The stock market value rose steadily after that.) 

 

Arthur was twenty-eight and someone was screaming outside his apartment. 

“For goodness sake, at least have the decency to get murdered in front of someone else’s front door.” He grouched as he ripped said door open. The hall was brightly lit, as always, and the screamer stood in the middle of it. It was a guy, maybe Arthur’s age, maybe younger, with messy black hair and wearing Black Widow PJs. He turned his startled eyes on Arthur (big, blue, framed by dark lashes). 

“What is it?” The words came out harsher than intended. 

The guy frowned. “Nothing. I was just – there was a spider hanging from the doorframe. It startled me.”

Arthur stared at the guy. The guy shuffled his feet and blushed a bit. Arthur looked at the door. There was indeed a spider hanging from the doorframe, its body big and dark enough that he could see it from the other side of the hall. 

Arthur bit his lip. Then released it, when he realised what he was doing. 

“What are you even doing in the hall this late?” 

The guy groaned. “Nothing. Look, it’s nothing, alright? Just – go back inside, okay? I’m fine.”

Arthur looked at the guy’s bare feet. It was cold in the hall. He sighed. 

“You’re going to stand out there until the spider is gone, aren’t you?”

The guy looked as if he might protest, but then sagged and sighed, too. “I was planning on it, actually.” He looked embarrassed. 

Arthur clenched his jaw and went over to the guy’s door. He caught the spider in his hands (its legs were furry and light as it frantically ran around in the hollow created by his palms, trying to find a way outside). He went inside his flat, and, realising the flaw in his plan, called out to the guy. “Give me a hand here, alright?”

So the guy came inside. He looked around curiously (the spider was nervously scrabbling around in his hands). “Hurry it up a bit, maybe? I don’t have all night.”

The guy started and hurried over to the window. He opened it and Arthur emptied his hands outside, brushing them off to make sure there were no threads still tethering the spider to him before shutting the window. 

The guy was beaming at him, a big, toothy grin. “Thanks, my brave knight.” He curtsied. 

Arthur snorted. He couldn’t help it. This guy was ridiculous. 

“I’m Arthur.” The words slipped out without his permission. The guy smiled even wider. Arthur wondered how he wasn’t hurting himself. 

“I’m Merlin. Nice to meet you.”

 

When Arthur was twenty-nine and awoke with his face wet after a particularly gruesome nightmare there were arms around his shoulders and warm breath in his ear. 

“Arthur, Arthur, shhh, I’ve got you, I’m here. It’s okay, it was just a dream.”

Arthur stiffened and pulled out of the hold. He sat up. “I know it is.” He said brusquely, “I’m not a child.”

The blankets rustled as Merlin sat up next to him. Arthur did not look at him. He fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, watching the shadows painted on them by cars moving outside. 

Warm fingers grasped his chin and turned his head around. He found himself looking into Merlin’s eyes, dark due to the lack of light. His gaze was sure and Arthur found that he could not look away. He clenched his jaw. 

“Listen up, you big prat.” Merlin said and Arthur would have laughed about it any other day, “I don’t give a damn about how things went in the past. But with me, there will be no shutting me out, you hear me? I can tell when you’re hiding something, and I can tell when you’re not alright. You don’t need to talk about it,” a car went by outside, the sound of its engine fading in the distance. “but you will not shut me out, do you hear me?”

Arthur said nothing. The fingers started carding through his hair. “I’m here for you, Arthur. I don’t care if you’re a little broken sometimes. You don’t have to be brave with me.”

Arthur let Merlin wrap him in a warm embrace and cried. And Merlin stroked his hair, and kissed his eyelids, and forehead, and nose (“Merlin you’re such a dork.”) and held him tighter. 

Arthur awoke in the morning with the sun shining through the curtains and his nose in Merlin’s neck. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he was smiling. 

 

(Arthur proposed to Merlin in the middle of a walk in the park when they were both thirty-one. He watched Merlin watch a dog taking a wee against an oak tree and felt the weight in his right jacket pocket. All of a sudden he didn’t want to wait until the dinner they had reserved at _Marcus’_ that evening. He just pulled out the little box and went down on his knees in front of Merlin. Stragglers around him stopped to gape. Mud was soaking through his expensive trousers. It was spring – birds were chirping all around them, but the snow had barely melted and the paths were soggy and wet.

Merlin needed a moment to realise what Arthur was doing. When he did his eyes became wide and he frantically tried to pull Arthur to his feet. 

“Oh god, Arthur, what are you doing, you complete clotpole! Your clothes are getting dirty – people are staring!”

Arthur laughed. “I’m not getting up until you give me an answer.” He was biting his lip again. Merlin’s eyes got even wider. 

“Oh Arthur. Yes, of course yes. Oh god I should have known that you would make a public proposal you utter berk.”

Arthur shut him up by kissing him and sliding the ring onto Merlin’s finger when he was suitably distracted. A few people around them clapped. Somebody whistled. 

Merlin was flushed when they parted. He flicked Arthur’s nose. 

“You bloody idiot. In public really? That was fucking brave of you.”

Arthur grinned at him, his hands at Merlin’s waist (his whole world beneath his palms). “Well, you know me.”

And Merlin smiled (because he did). )


End file.
